


Of Strawberries and Cake

by foxfireflamequeen



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Nightwing gave up. This kid was far too cute for him to handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Strawberries and Cake

“ _Whoooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…_ ”

“Ow.”

“Aw man you okay D—Nightwing? Didn’t mean to startle you. Kindathoughtyou’dknow I was here. That looksprettybad you should wrapituporsomething.”

Only years of hanging out with Wally near twenty-four seven allowed Dick to decipher the entire sentence. The whole team was doing their best to keep up, but only the original si—five—had even remotely come close to being able to, and that was only courtesy of previous experience.

On that note, he was a little annoyed with himself for being caught off-guard. Bart’s arrival— ** _Recognized: Impulse G03_** —had been announced throughout the cave, and Nightwing should have _known_ that a speedster’s first stop would be the kitchen.

“It’s fine,” he waved off the little cut which had surprised him more than anything, sticking his forefinger under a stream of cold water at the sink and turning to look at Bart, who wasn’t doing a very good job of not staring. “You know there’s no one here, right?”

“‘Cept you,” the younger teen pointed out, watching him turn off the tap and examine the finger to see if it would bleed anymore. “Did you know you’re wearing _jeans?_ ”

“Um.” Dick looked down at himself, taking in his trademark jeans and hoodie, a little confused. “Yes?”

Bart blinked rapidly. “You’re wearing jeans. Andsunglassesindoors but more importantly, you’re wearing _jeans_.”

_Okay…?_

“Is there something wrong with jeans…?” he asked slowly, mind racing to pick up the pieces. Were jeans _that_ out of fashion in the future or something? But almost everyone on the team wore jeans off-duty, _including Bart considering he was wearing them right now_.

Dick felt the need to point that out.

“Pf-yeah!” the speedster chirped, buzzing over to grab Dick’s injured finger and inspect the cut with intense concentration, and it took the movement for Nightwing to realize that the other had been standing at the exact same spot by the door until now. Granted, Bart’s hand gestures were as big as they were when he first arrived, but in Dick’s experience, speedsters didn’t _do_ the whole ‘localized’ thing. “I know that! And nah, nothing’s wrong. It’s just the first time I’m seeing _you_ as _not_ _Nightwing_ and youshouldtotallywearjeansmorofteneyourbuttlooksgoodinthem.” The boy pressed a quick kiss to the wound and dropped the hand. “There. Ikisseditbetter.”

_…O-kayyyy._

_Hah_. That was actually pretty adorable.

Dick pulled a pink bandaid out of one of the drawers and wrapped it around his finger, mostly to ensure he didn’t bleed into the food.

“What are you doing here, Bart?” he asked, amused, moving to pick up the knife again, giving it a quick twirl just for showmanship’s sake.

“Could askyou the same.” The kid hopped onto the counter, and with all the times Dick had perched on that same spot in his Robin days and M’gaan had shooed him away, he wasn’t going to tell Bart to get off now. “What’chu doing, Dick?”

The knife slammed into the chopping board as Dick started at the use of his name, neatly slicing away a thin strip of skin off his index again— _aw c’mon_ —and half the bandaid.

The other half just fell off. He’d _told_ Miss M to get the plain ones they were _better_.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nightwing berated him for letting the speedster surprise him _twice_ in a space of five minutes.

“OhmyGod— _Dick!_ ” Bart rushed off the counter to snatch up his hand, scowling vehemently and sticking Nightwing’s bleeding finger into his mouth without any hesitation whatsoever. “You eed t’be mo’e ca’efu’!”

It was a little hard to pay attention when someone else had half your finger in their mouth and was totally _sucking on it_.

“ _Um_ ,” Dick said eloquently— _second time in five minutes he has you speechless, too_ —Nightwing of course couldn’t let that one go—and… stared, not entirely sure what he should be doing with this situation.

Of all the times his training had to fail him.

Fortunately, Bart popped the digit out on his own— _no, really, **popped**_ —now free of blood, and sped over to the drawer Dick had drawn the first bandaid from, back in three seconds to carefully apply a fresh flowery bandaid to the cut.

“Sorry I keep doing that to you,” Bart kissed the injury apologetically, and Dick jerked back from admiring how the light made Bart’s light brown hair seem almost honey. “Imakeeveryonejump but it’s only a superpower when you can do it to a Bat amIright but I really am sorry I didn’t mean to Iusuallydon’tmeanto but I forget that not everyone has superspeed areyoualrightdoesithurt?”

Bart had pretty hair. Funny how he never noticed before. It wasn’t red—Dick’s favorite—but it wasn’t brown either. It was a really nice blend of red and brown and blond that caught the light _perfectly_.

Bart had the prettiest eyes too, but _that_ Nightwing had noticed the moment the boy had taken his goggles off.

Bart was also younger than him and far from legal, so Dick’s brain needed to shut up now.

“No, it doesn’t. I shouldn’t get surprised so easily,” he smiled down at the boy, ruffling the— _huh, rough_ —hair and deciding against showing off his knife skills this time. Clearly he didn’t have any. “Not your fault.”

“Should I call you Nightwing?” Bart seemed entirely nonplussed by the awkward situation—in fact, it was apparently only awkward to Dick—which admittedly helped the older teen’s cheeks cool down. Chances were this was a usual thing where— _when_ —Bart was from and he’d be able to use it to freak the hell out of another team member— _Robin, please let it be Robin_ —later.

(No Dick was not hoping to catch that instance on camera.)

(Speaking of, he should probably delete this footage before Mal saw it and got ideas.)

Shrugging, Nightwing tapped at his wrist to pull up his holocomp, doing a quick scan of the Mountain. Even M’gaan, Conner and La’gaan weren’t around—unusual, but that was why he was in the kitchen in the first place—and if the Cave was empty, he didn’t see a problem with—

“You can’t slip up in front of the others.” Bart’s eyes lit up instantly. Dick worked hard to not appreciate it. “But when no one’s within hearing range… I don’t see why you can’t call me Dick, since you already know my name.”

“I do know your name! You’re Dick Grayson!” Bart squealed loudly, making Dick wince. The speedster laughed and lowered his voice. “D for Dick and G for Grayson? CanIcallyouDeeGee? No one would know. Secret IDs are so retro butifyouwannakeepyours I guess you should.”

_DG._

Dick’s finger pulsed with the pseudo feeling of warm lips wrapped around it.

His mouth moved before Nightwing was done assessing the viability of the suggestion. “I like it.” Bart practically buzzed at the approval. “But on the field I’m Nightwing.”

“Suresureofcourse!” The boy didn’t even think about it, which was almost enough to make Dick reconsider, but Bart had already moved on, peering into the bowl where Dick was dropping the chopped fruits. “Whydoyouneedsomanystrawberries?”

“I’m making a cake and I want to layer it with them. You can have a few if you like; just don’t finish the whole thing.”

The speedster blinked. “I don’t want it.”

That made Dick pause. A speedster turning down food? Unheard of.

“You don’t like strawberries?”

“I dooooooo but I can’t stop once I start so if I start I’ll finish the wholething so no butcanIhelp?”

Nightwing gave up. This kid was far too cute for him to handle.

“If you can finish the rest of the strawberries I can get started on the cake batter. I just need them in quarters.”

Bart snatched up the knife from him instantly and practically pushed him out of the way, taking stand in front of the counter like…

“Go make your batter you keep hurting yourself here.”

…like Dick didn’t know what he was doing.

**_Un_ ** _appreciated._

With a not-so-subtle huff, Nightwing moved over and started adding flour to a large mixing bowl.

“CanIseeyoureyes?” The question made him pause, but.

“No,” Nightwing answered with ease.

“I already know who you are.” Bart was pouting. Dick could _hear_ it. “I can look you up online. The internet’skindaslow but I can.”

“Sorry, Bart.” It wasn’t up for debate. Dick wasn’t taking off his sunglasses in the Cave. “Not happening.”

“I’llseethemsomeday,” the boy vowed, taking out his disappointment on the fruit. Dick actually felt a bit bad.

“Someday,” he agreed, but it didn’t seem to appease Bart. In fact, the kid didn’t talk again for a whole minute until—

“ _OW!_ ”

“What were you saying about me hurting myself?”

That might have been a little childish.

Maybe.

A little.

“Shuddup,” his helper grumbled, rummaging for another bandaid as he sucked on the hurt digit.

“Need me to kiss it better~?” Dick sing-songed, crawling into the giant cabinet underneath the counter—wonder that he could still fit into it—to retrieve the electric beater.

When he poked his head back out, there was a clumsily bandaged finger in his face.

Oh. Well.

Okay.

A smile and a kiss, and Bart was practically glowing.

_Easy to please_ , Nightwing printed into his brain.

Four more cuts and a teary-eyed speedster later, Nightwing was struggling to edit that note as Dick fought to hold him back.

_He’s not easy to please he just wants kisses!_

“How about I handle the rest, Bart?” he offered instead.

_Thank god for experience_ , Dick couldn’t help but think as he dove on pure instinct to stop a blue and brown blur from zooming out of there. When you could run that fast, it was impossible for fight to win out over flight.

“Look‘msorryIkeepmessingupI’lljustgoyouwerefineonyourown.”

“I enjoy the company.” It was Nightwing’s voice that finally forced Bart to a standstill as Dick easily picked him up and sat him back down on the counter, large floury handprints decorating the boy’s once-clean clothes. “I’d rather you sulk here than somewhere I can’t see you.”

Bart perked up immediately. “You like seeing me?”

Dick’s glance was amused. “I’ll admit you’re easy on the eyes.”

“Ha. I told Cassieyou’renot a robot.”

After over a year of leading this team, keeping his smile from dimming wasn’t really all that difficult, though Dick wished it was. Maybe he _was_ a bit of a robot. Oh well. Sacrifices, right?

“Nope, definitely not a robot,” he agreed cheerfully, setting up the electric beater before returning to his knife.

Bart watched him as he worked, not a trace of his previous wide-eyed innocence in the… _calculating_ scrutiny.

_Do you really expect me to not notice, or are you counting on it?_

Dick wondered if this was how it felt to be in Nightwing’s line of sight.

The moment he turned to look properly, though, it was gone as though he’d just imagined it, and not for the first time since he’d arrived Impulse had managed to catch his full attention.

Bart Allen in no way factored into any of Nightwing’s plans. As an unexpected variable, Dick was set on keeping him as far away from his plans as possible. That’s why he’d contacted Wally; someone who was out of the game and out of the running—wow that’s a lot of puns—to watch out for this kid. No matter how unbelievable his ‘tourist’ story was or how many theories he had that Bart had come back specifically to save the Flash’s life, Nightwing didn’t _have_ attention to spare on this anomaly.

But Bart seemed set on having it anyway.

_Not so much of a kid after all, are you?_

“You okay there, DG?” The boy leaned further into his line of sight, smile bright but eyes careful. “You look a little moded. Not that I can really tell with those glasses on that _can’t_ be good for your eyes can I have a peek pretty pretty please?”

Slicing through the final berry, Dick dropped a piece into his mouth and held another out to Bart.

“‘S all crash.” A façade, or the real deal? Did he have _time_ to investigate? “That’s what you say, right? Crash the mode?”

Babs did keep telling him to take a break. And this boy who had nothing to do with him, who shouldn’t even _be_ here who could mess things up beyond repair, made him _want_ to take a break.

“Yeah…” Bart eyed the fruit like it was poisoned. “That’s what we say but I was tryingtokeepupwiththelingohere I can’t believe people still say ‘cool’ that’s so retro areyousureyouwantmetoeattha— _mmph!_ ”

Dick’s fingers lingered on Bart’s lips a moment too long.

Plenty of time for a speedster.

Complete silence reigned in the kitchen as Dick scooped the batter into a cake bowl and placed it in the oven, silence as he put the strawberries into the fridge and labeled it ‘mine’—the only person who would dare touch Nightwing’s stuff rarely came by so no worries—and silence still as he offered Bart a hand down from the counter and one last slice of fruit.

“Wanna go play video games while it bakes?”

Bart chewed thoughtfully, smaller hand squeezing Dick’s as they walked out together, steps small and hurried to make up for the older teen’s longer, slower strides.

“Ilikegames.”

Nightwing frowned over the puzzle pieces that just _refused_ to slot together. Dick laughed easily for the first time in what felt like _years_.

“I do too.”

The speedster stopped in his tracks, forcing his leader to a halt as well, numerous bandaids catching on Dick’s calloused palm. Bart grinned up at him, a little eager and a little shy.

“We should play more often.”

Dick’s free fingers combed through windswept honey-brown hair. “We should.”

Bart’s sudden smile reminded Nightwing of his Robin days. “How about right now?”

“Thought that’s what we were—” Dick followed the other’s gaze up. “Oh.”

Two days before Christmas, of _course_ the mistletoes were up. Nightwing had been too caught up in scheduling holiday Watchtower duties to do much more than notice that the tree had been decorated.

His eyes flickered back down to meet smug green ones. “JaimetoldmeaboutoldChristmastraditions.” Nightwing could’ve sworn he’d seen that smirk before, on his own face, forever and a day ago. “You’ll haveta’ take ‘em off now, boss.”

Dick snorted, finally removing his shades. “Well played, Imp.”

“Imp?” Golden eyelashes fluttered. “Isthatgonnabemynamenow? That’s fine. I get to call you DeeGee and you call me Imp it’slikecodenames did anyone ever tell you you have really pretty eyes I’d only seen pictures but they look way better in person— _oh_.”

The kiss wasn’t much more than a chaste brushing of lips, but Dick couldn’t resist darting out his tongue for half a second, less to taste and more to feel Bart shiver.

When he drew back, the speedster was vibrating faintly.

“Set up Mario Kart. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dick turned on his heel, replacing his sunglasses and heading towards the monitor room. Any and all evidence of Nightwing actually being caught in a trap had to be removed, ASAP.

“It’s not Christmas yet.” Bart called from behind him, voice shimmering with suppressed glee.

“Maybe I just _let_ you win.” Dick hid a smile. “Or maybe I just wanted to kiss you.”

He counted seven seconds in his head; seven long seconds during which Bart debated the validity of his victory and failed to decide, before the familiar _whoosh_ of a speedster racing around the room floated to his ears.

Didn’t matter if either of them was a little late. This was going to be a long game.


End file.
